Chapter Text
For a while, all he could register was sounds. The sounds varied—sometimes it was a frequent beeping noise, sometimes it was footsteps, sometimes people speaking. There would be long bouts of quiet, quiet eventually broken by one of these noises. While it was always easy to understand that people were talking, what they were saying was frustratingly difficult to remember, almost like trying to carry a handful of sand while running. Often he would catch a name, or a familiar voice, but as soon as those words left the mouth of its owner, all information would just… slip.
Soon enough, he was able to register physical sensation. The first occurrence of this was upon realizing just how dry his throat was. After that, light pricks on his forearms, then a light pressure on the bottom half of his face, more pricks. Sometimes, he could feel certain muscles seize, not of his own volition, but he never remained lucid enough for fear to creep into his mind.
Eventually, he found in himself the desire to open his eyes. He didn't know why he didn't think about it before, but at some point, he realized he wanted to observe where he was.
The first couple of tries were in vain, the lull of sleep much more powerful than the curiosity that motivated him just seconds before. Only with a considerable amount of effort and the will to stay awake, he finally cracked open his eyes.
That was when panic started to set in. He didn't recognize anything around him—the light in the room was a blinding white, machines he had never seen before surrounding him, that ever-present beeping started to speed up again. And then people. People were present in the room with him, but he didn't have the opportunity to say anything before falling unconscious.
This would become a pattern. He’d try to look around, try to just move, and then his world would go black. He thought that he made a noise a couple of times, something like a groan or a wounded whine, but he couldn't really tell. There were more voices, less hushed whispers and more so resembling chatter.
Jamil woke up. It was gradual, first becoming aware of the fact that he was awake, then finding a familiar determination to open his eyes. He wasn't as startled by the white lights around him as the first time, having grown to expect them. But this time, when he tried to take stock of his surroundings, he stayed conscious. There was no sudden fatigue, no tunnel vision, no muscle spasms, nothing. He opened his eyes with no fanfare, and made direct eye contact with a man dressed in white.
The next few minutes were such a blur they could have been mistaken for a dream if it hadn’t been for the poking and prodding of needles. Quickly, Jamil was able to assess that the people in the room with him were doctors, which only served to amplify his confusion. Why would he be in the hospital?
For the rest of the day, he was berated with questions, about his physical condition, his mental state, his memories. But one name yanked him out of the fog that was starting to cloud his mind: Kalim. After asking the man who said that name to repeat himself, in a voice much too scratchy to belong to a healthy body, the doctor said that Kalim and Master Asim had been informed of his state and would be visiting the next day. His sister had apparently requested to see him as well, but his parents told her to wait, and that they would all visit him once Master Asim had spoken to Jamil first.
He didn't know why, but the last part made his heart ache in a way that he wished felt more foreign than it did.
But that was unimportant, because Kalim was going to see him.
Of course, the first emotion that flooded him was relief. With so much unfamiliarity, it would be cathartic to see his ever-present companion once again. However, this brought his mind to the fact that Kalim wasn't with him. That meant Kalim could be in danger.
The doctor must have noticed his increasing panic, as he started to assure Jamil that Kalim was unharmed, and predictably eager to see him once more. But first, he had to rest. The doctor was very quick with his words, leaving no room for argument. Jamil saw little reason to anyway—his eyelids were already starting to feel like lead again, and it would be nice to not think of all that had happened for just a little while longer.
The next day, or what Jamil assumed to be the next day based on the new sunrise, was indeed when the head of the Asim family came to see him.
Contrary to what Kalim says, Master Asim did not have a comforting presence. His intimidating demeanor did not come from his stature, being a smaller man with a round build and an even rounder face. It was the way in which he walked with heavy steps, held his chin high, all with a face that betrayed absolutely nothing; that was what set Jamil on edge. All of it made a man who knew everything within his vicinity belonged to him, a man who had managed to keep hold of those possessions, those people, for decades.
A primal fear seeped into his body and his muscles almost tensed involuntarily as the Master eyed him up and down. He felt that cowardly part of his mind shut off in an effort to match the other man’s neutral expression.
“How much did the doctors tell you of what happened?” the older man questioned.
“Nothing, sir.”
“Did you ask them?”
“No, sir. I figured it was not my place to ask.” Only partly the truth. It wasn't as if Jamil didn't have questions. It was his job to question everyone and everything for the sake of Kalim’s protection. But his desire to ask questions was greatly overruled by the absolute exhaustion that sapped that curiosity away.
“Kalim’s food was poisoned.”
Oh.
“Is Kalim safe?” he questioned without thought. Maybe he should have not been so forward with Master Asim, but the older man didn’t seem to take any offense to his directness. Either that or he was focused on more pressing matters than correcting his servant's manners after awaking from a coma.
“Yes. He has been kept under strict surveillance in your absence, which has kept him in a sour mood, but he remains unharmed.” Of course. There was no way the Asims would allow any risk right after an assasination attempt. There was a part of him that worried, despite that.
“When am I allowed to return to my duties?”
A glance was cast to the doctor in the corner of the room. While he previously looked like he wished to speak, as soon as it was clear the attention was on him, he seemed much less eager to chime in.
“A week. It is expected that you will have made full recovery by then, and you will be able to perform to your normal level of efficiency,” the doctor said, in a tone that, once more, left little room for argument.
“Thank you, sir,” Jamil spoke clearly while bowing his head slightly.
And with that, Master Asim made his way out of the room.
One would expect the tension in the room to dissipate, with the cause of such a mood gone. However, the unease Jamil had felt did not leave. Instead, his mind ran through the interaction. Jamil really should have not questioned the Master so bluntly—he most likely only got away with such a thing due to his state. If it had been his parents, he for sure would have been on the receiving end of quite the tongue lashing. It would only be out of concern for how his behavior reflected the family, but just because they meant well did not mean it was something Jamil wanted to happen.
A week. A whole week of remaining useless in bed. Well, it was never explicitly said he would be confined to his bed, but he was sure the doctors would be displeased if he were to throw away all of their hard work simply because he was restless. But that meant an entire week of having to trust the physical prowess and judgement of bodyguards Jamil did not know by name. He wouldn’t be there to act as a second pair of eyes and ears.
What if they were incompetent? Worse, he didn’t know where their loyalty lied. What if one of them was easily paid off? What if one of them intended to harm-
That was when Kalim came bursting through the door, and it was as if the air itself became easier to breathe.
“Jamil!”
Kalim ran towards him, barely stopping himself from pouncing onto Jamil.
“Young Master, please refrain from yelling while he is still recovering,” the doctor chided However his bow diminished the authority that would normally be associated with such reprimand.
“O-oh yes!” Kalim took a step back in order to face the doctor, with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, thank you so much for helping Jamil, but would you mind leaving the room for a bit?”
The doctor kept his bow, giving Kalim a quiet, ‘Of course,’ before backing out of the room and shutting the door. As soon as that happened, Kalim spun around and embraced Jamil. Fortunately, Kalim did not hug Jamil’s arms as well, so Jamil was able to gently reciprocate. They stayed like that for a few moments, Jamil able to feel the heat of Kalim’s breath through his own clothing given how close his face was to Jamil’s chest.
It was clear to anyone that met him that Kalim was an unusually affectionate person. Where other children his age may stay by their parents' side after being introduced to new people, Kalim was always eager to take their hand and shake in greeting. He loved when his younger siblings would pull at his arms in an attempt to catch his attention. Even with Master Asim, Kalim would always hug him goodbye when he was about to depart from the palace. It was like smiling at someone, Kalim once described it, the impulse to engage in physical contact and the sense of ease that came with it.
Outside of Kalim, Jamil rarely had that. It was common knowledge that as a servant, to be touched was to be known, and to be known was to be noticed, and that wasn't their purpose there. Not only that, but there was a sort of safety that came from the lack of acknowledgement—if you were not directly addressed, you were performing your tasks adequately. It most definitely led to a heaviness in a servant's heart—Jamil was completely aware of that. A child who was either perceptive or curious could be a dangerous thing; an unfortunate fate for his parents, then, that Jamil was both. He knew his parents tried to shield him from the goings ons between the servants, but he was observant. Was Yusof really transferred to a smaller noble family if Jamil heard he had been “punished,” as one of Kalim’s uncles put it, for attempting to sell some of the palace’s silver cutlery? How could Fatin have been retired from such a job, oh so conveniently after having expressed disgust towards how Mistress Asim spoke to her own personal servants?
The small but unignorable shaking of Kalim’s shoulders accompanied by a muffled hiccuping reminded him of his priorities.
“Huh? Hey, what's wrong?” Instinctively, Jamil started to run his nails up and down Kalim’s back in a rhythmic motion. Though he never said so, Jamil knew that Kalim liked it when he did it, judging by how quick that alone normally soothed the other boy.
Kalim’s body continued to spasm, and it took him a moment to say something with some degree of coherence.
“I-I, I know the- You were on the- on the ground, baba tried t-to tell me to not look a-and… you didn't respond! They- they were putting something in your mouth and then-”
The more Kalim tried to talk between sniffles and hiccups, the more out of breath he seemed to get. With the way things were going, Kalim was going to suffocate on his own words.
“Everything is fine-”
“No! It's not fine!?” Kalim’s head suddenly popped up, just barely missing knocking into Jamil’s chin. Face to face, Jamil was able to see the wetness smeared across his cheeks with fresh rivulets of tears trailing down them. “How could you say that—I thought you died!”
Oh, he was serious about this, Jamil half heartedly noted.
“Well, I'm alive, so it's fine.” That was the truth, after all. He didn't even remember what happened, and while it may take a while to fully physically recover, he would be able to perform his duties just as before. No harm, no foul.
“I was- I didn't know what to do! I’m so sorry, I should have been able to notice something was wrong-”
Jamil caught himself wanting to scoff and immediately snuffed that idea out. Such a rude gesture in front of an Asim would probably send both of his parents into cardiac arrest. But neither of them were here, and neither of them could read minds, so he was safe. Probably.
“Don't waste your tears on something like this. I'm here now, I'm here,” Jamil repeated, tugging Kalim closer to allow Kalim’s head to rest in the crook of his neck. It was the right move, judging by how the other clung back with just as much, if not more, force. The two of them stayed like that for a while, Kalim fully on the cot now, fisting the back of Jamil’s robe, all the while Jamil resumed gently dragging his nails along Kalim’s spine. Kalim was warm, very warm. If it were anyone else, Jamil would suspect the person to be sick, but Kalim always tended to run a bit hotter. While in most circumstances, being embraced like this might have been stifling, the comfort it provided made the gesture a welcomed one. Jamil desperately wished Kalim wasn't crying, because if it wasn't for the icky wetness he could feel on his bare skin right on his shoulder, he might have been able to fall asleep.
That thought snapped him out of the drowsy haze he seemed to have fallen into. No, he couldn’t sleep. What if someone came in? Best case scenario, it would be a doctor who wouldn't have the heart to tell Master Asim that his son and servant fell asleep on one another. Worst case, whoever tried to poison Kalim would come back to finish the job. Between those extremes were variations of different family members, both from the Asims and the Vipers. No matter who would come in, though, it would all mean the same thing: they would see that the young master’s servant was useless.
Kalim seemed to have calmed down a little bit, given his blubbering simmered to a high pitched whine that would occasionally be broken up by incoherent pleas for Jamil to stay with him.
Jamil, as always, complied.
It took longer than Jamil would have liked for Kalim to fully calm down, but he did eventually. Somehow, nobody had come in the room, despite a significant amount of time having passed. Kalim started to move, and for a moment Jamil thought he was going to pull away, but one of his hands let go of Jamil’s clothing to (from what Jamil could deduce) rub his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” Kalim mumbled, “I know you told me not to cry but… you can’t blame me! Seeing someone I love like that…”
“Don't throw that word around so carelessly…” Jamil sighed. This caused Kalim to actually pull away, and Jamil was embarrassed that his first thought was how cool the room was without Kalim to shield him from it. The boy’s brows were pinched together in a way that didn't suggest anger, but something similar but laced with concern.
“But I do! I really love you, I don't know what I would be able to do without you!” When Kalim spoke so firmly, Jamil knew he couldn't change his mind. That didn't mean he had to agree, though.
“...You’ll be fine, but don't worry—I'm not leaving you.” Jamil hurriedly added in the last part as he watched moisture gather anew in Kalim's eyes. And it was a good thing he did, as instead of bursting into tears, Kalim’s shoulders just slumped. The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Jamil made no move to embrace Kalim once more, knowing that if Kalim wished for such comfort he would have made it clear. But, as is normal with Kalim, the silence did not last, with the boy’s gloomy expression quickly erased into that of what could only be described as ‘alert.’
“Wait, I forgot! I came here to give you a get-well-gift, but I just ended up crying on you…”
Kalim dug for a second in the pocket of his dishdasha. Jamil knew when he found whatever it was he was searching for because his face brightened up, but he could not contain his curiosity enough to stay silent.
“A gift?”
Kalim excitedly opened his hand, watching Jamil’s face for his reaction. In the middle of Kalim’s palm was a beautiful golden bead. When Jamil did not immediately take action, Kalim reached for his hand and put the bead in it, which Jamil took as a sign he was allowed to inspect the object more closely.
The more Jamil looked at it, the higher the price tag seemed to go up in his head. It was a bit on the longer side, which gave room for the incredibly ornate design. It centered around one snake wrapped all around the bead, with some type of pattern serving as a background, meant to draw attention to the reptile above all else. The thicker ends of the bead that framed the design were also decorated, but instead of complex metalwork, there were small red jewels lining it. Garnet, most likely.
“You told me you wanted to grow your hair out more, so I thought you would want an accessory!” Kalim announced with a wide grin that was more silly than charming due to a gap caused by a recently lost baby tooth.
Jamil… didn’t really know how to respond. Kalim was by no means stingy with gifts. Much like his affection, he had plenty to share and among those recipients was often Jamil, even if his parents quietly took away some of the more precious gifts to give back to Master Asim. This wasn't just another gift though. Jamil did mention he was thinking of growing out his hair. Kalim remembered that. Forgetful, sweet-as-he-is thoughtless Kalim listened and remembered.
“...Thank you, Kalim. It's beautiful.”
“Hehe, I picked it all by myself! Well, not all by myself. I told mama I wanted to look into getting some jewelry and I didn't have a clue where to start looking-”
Later, Jamil will have to face his parents. He is unsure how they will react when seeing him. When he will have to face his sister, too, he knows he will be met with an uncharacteristic show of upset. Neither of which he was partly looking forward to.
But it was okay, because right then, all Jamil had to do was quietly listen to Kalim ramble about the several different jewelers he went to trying to find the exact bead without even knowing what he was looking for, all while Jamil focused on the comfort brought by his friend’s presence.